Forest of the dead
by Rkuda
Summary: All the people here have a story. Someone they loved. A past. A world in which they wished to escape. 24 enter. One survives. These are the Games. May the odds be forever in your favour.
1. Chapter 1

_'Deep in the meadow, hidden far away _  
_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray _  
_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay _  
_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.'_

A clock ticked somewhere in the dark. Time was moving, but everything else was still and distant. There were moments before all this- moments of nightmares and waking. There was only darkness and the steady ticking clock now. Sleep was flowing through my veins like summer ivy. I breathed, bit I didn't want to wake...

There are two sides to a coin. They look out in opposite directions and they never see each other, and yet the coin would not be completed without both sides.

I watch the metal coin spin on the smooth, wooden table, watching a stamped face of president snow face me and then turn away in rapid succession. The coin makes a deep rolling sound and the spinning slows down and collapses on the table, Snows face staring up at me. I'm hunched over, my chin resting on the edge of the table as I wait for my father to finish making breakfast.

Quickily, I slap my hand over the coin and drag it closer to me. Holding it between my thumb and index finger, I stare at the solemn face of president Snow. I have never met the man personally, but that doesn't mean I don't hate him. Usually, I am indifferent to the president. He lives far away in the Capitol where anyone in the districts can only see him on the television screen. But today is the Reaping and every child in the district, from twelve to eighteen, as well as their families and friends harvests some sort of hatred for the president of the Capitol.

"Here."

My father places a metal bowl of steaming oatmeal in front of me. I lift my head of of the edge of the table to peer into the unimpressive grey-brown mush of oats.

"Spoon," I said.

Normally, my father would tell me to get the spoon myself, but today is the reaping day, and incase my name gets pulled out of the bowl, he decides to be nice. I hear the sound of him yanking open the kitchen drawers and the rattling of silverware. Then he passes me the spoon. I take it, without looking at my father, and begin to eat the oatmeal.

Each bite is slow and forced and my only thoughts are on the glass bowl with thousands of others. Most of them put in over ten times. I'm only fourteen and my names in their seven times. Though thats seven more times that I want in there.

"You have to smile," said my father

"Why?"

"So they can't see you."

My fathers words make no sense to me, but I don't want him to elaborate. In the mornings before the reaping each year, I always want absolute silence. I would rather curl up under the covers of my bed and never come out or dive into the sea and swim for hours in the calm of the ever-morning ocean. But escape isn't an option. I have to be present for the reaping or the peace keepers will come and probably destroy our small house that always smells like the ocean.

"You know how to use a trident," explained my father. I could hear him pacing around the kitchen, the floorboards squeaking underneath him. "They don't have tridents in the Games. But you could probably use a harpoon- that's the same as a spear. And you can tie knots like no one else, as well as making snares."

Unlike me, he likes to talk to me before every reaping. I think he just likes to remind himself that I might be capable of winning.

"Are you going to do something about your hair?" asked my father.

I drop my metal spoon into the bowl of untouched oatmeal and turn to scowl at my father.

"Everyone likes my hair better this way. It suits my attitude."

"And what is the Capitol don't like you _attitude_" asked my father. "How are you going to win then?"

I glower up at my father. He's worried. His face is covered with signs of taunt. He stood over me, towering, with a curling black beard that was stiff from seawater.

The only thing I inherited from my father was height. I was my late mother's son- which, according to a market woman, was a blessing.

"Your not going to get chosen." said my father, finally.

He didn't know that. I didn't know that. No one knew. Unless someone decided to volenteer (which was known to happen in District Four), I could very well be in the Games this year.

The thought terrified me more than I care to admit.

"Are you going to eat?" asked my father. He peered over my shoulder at the untouched bowl of oats.

I shook my head and pushed the dish away. "I'm going to get ready."

As I made my way towards my room at the back of the small, damp hous, my father called after me,

"Make sure to wash the salt water out of your hair, Finnick."

With that, I firmly resolved to keep the salt of District Four in my hair forever. 


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Roden was tall for his age, like me. He was stood in his reaping clothes obviously waiting for me. I knew what he was going to saw ages before he said it,

"Where's Finnick?" asked Roden, "Odair he is!"

He burst into laughter even though he had made the joke at least seven times before.

"You never change," I said rolling my eyes as I joined the fourteen-year-olds' line.

"Aren't you exited this year? I heard that Dane is volunteering."

I glanced back at the line of seventeen year olds where Dane was standing. Dane was a whalers son and he was known for his skill with a harpoon. I could see him volunteering for the games and, probably, winning.

"Who would volunteer?"

"Idiots, that's who." I said bluntly.

I stared, over the heads of boys younger than me, at the wooden stage which held two glass balls filled with tiny white slips of paper. A black microphone rested on a stand between the two bowls, where the District Four escort, Venture Pointe, would draw the names of the tributes. My eyes stayed fixated on the bowl to my left. Round and globe-like, it was supported by a wooden stand. However, the bowl contained names instead of water. I willed the three pieces of paper with my name on to be lost amongst the names of the children around me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registered that I had just wished death on another person, but I felt a little guilt because I knew that every other boy present was wishing the same fate for me.

When the lines were complete- all the boys from twelve to eighteen on the left side and all the girls aged twelve to eighteen on the other with their parents surrounding watching with worried eyes from a distance- the reaping began.

Venture Pointe is my picture of the Capitol. His skin has been painted with dusted gold while his hair has been died silver and slicked was wearing a suit of bronze and had painted his lips and eyelids with silver. He looked like a metallic statue-not even human anymore- And he stands in the centre of the stage and greets District Four.

"Welcome to the 65th annual Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour. As always- ladies first!"

Giggling excitedly, Venture moved to the bowl on my right and dramatically plunged his hand into the while slips of paper. I watched his fingers hesitate and pick a different name and felt a wave of disgust. Venture enjoyed selecting who was going to die. I could see it- he wanting this sway of human life. Finally he plucked a name from the bowl and held it up. He leant backbefore saying, "Ellie Washbone."

My stomach twists in sympathy when I realise that she is a twelve year old with her blonde hair pulled back in pigtails. As she made her way trembling and whimpering, up the steps to the stage, myself wishing that someone would volunteer for her. However no one moves and then-

"I volenteer"

The girl is sixteen. I know her by face but not by name. Her mother is one of the merchants in the fish market. The girl makes her way past the other sixteen year olds and uponto the stage. Ellie Washbone is shaking with uncontrollable terrible fear, waiting for someone to comfirm that she has indeed been saved from the Hunger Games.

"We have a volunteer," said Venture, practically glowing with exitement "Tell us your name, come on don't be shy now."

"Kalei Jonas."

"Presenting the female tribute of District Four- Kalei Jonas!"

Venture gave Ellie Washbone a little push down the stairs and Ellie runs back to the line of twelve year olds, weeping uncontrollably. The crowd bursts into applause, I think out of relief that Kalei just saved a little girl from the horrors of the games. However, when the applause dies, the male tribute is chosen. My fate is still unknown.

As Venture sticks his goldned hand into the glass bowl and starts fumbling through slips of paper, I feel Roden tense beside me. He glances around, a nervous smile spreading across his face.

"Finnick Odair."


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Rodens smile has fallen from his face and he can only stare at me in mute horror. I am staring back. I know I should respond. I should move onto the stage before the peacekeepers come and drag me up there. But I can't move. My legs are rooted to the ground as I feel the eyes of everyone- Roden Hemi, the other boys, the girls, and my father- on me. It isn't until I hear Venture Pointe call my name again, that I finally decide to move.

The walk onto the stage reminded me of the first time on my Father's fishing boat, where the floor beneath me shifted and I thought I woud never walk in a straight line again. Step by step, I made my way up the wooden steps and onto the stahe beside Venture Pointe. I can see Kalei Jonas watching me with sharp eyes, but I don't aknowledge her existance. Instead, I turn out and stare into the lines of children.

"Are there any Volenteers?" asked Venture.

I scan the crowds, my heart leaping at my last chance. My eyes seek out Dane, but when I see his stern face I realise that the rumours of him volenteering this year really were just rumours. Moments of silence tick by and, with growing dread, I realise that I am going to have to do this. I am going to have to take part in the Hunger Games.

Venture clapped his hands together,

"I present to you, District 4, your tributes- Kalei Jonas and Finnick Odair."

As the anthem of Panem started playing, I felt a burning vile rise in my throat. I was going to throw up. Right then and there. In front of my friends. In front of my District. In front of the cameras. Infront of everyone- including my competitors and perspective sponsors. By sheer will power, I manage to hold myself together. I glared at the camera, keeping my head held high and refusing to look anywhere else, afraid that if I met the pitying eyes of my District, I really would throw up.

If that happened they might as well cut my heart out with a sickle.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"You have to kill them all. All twenty-three of them."

My father paced about the courtroom, muttering to himself. I had a couple of minutes with him and, apart from his initial embrace, my father had not made eye contact with me. IU sat in a wooden chair, my arms across my chest and my gaze turned towards the sea. Over the shingle roofs of the District Four houses, I could see the glistened blue of the ocean's surface. Boats drigten beneath the bast sky, fishermen and whalers going about their daily routine as if I had not just been sentenced to death.

"You can join the Careers," said my father, running his fingers through his hair.

I loathed them, the people who could go on as if nothing happened. My life was ending. O was being thrown into an arena with twenty-three other murderous children and the fishermen could go on fishing.

"Don't befriend them. Don't ever befriend them. You're just going to kill them in the end."

"Are you done yet?" I asked, my voice flat.

My father stopped pacing and turned to stare at me. "What?"

"Cry," I said. "Can you do that?"

"Finnick," said my father, "Finnick, you have to listen to me."

"I just want you to cry for me," I said. "Is it that difficult?"

"Now is not the time for anything like that," said my father. He took me by the shoulders and shook me. "You need to train. You need to strategize."

I pushed his hands away and got to my feet. "I only want one thing from you."

My father opened and closed his mouth. He had nothing to say.

A hard smile crossed my face and I tilted my head to the side. "Your missing a day of fishing. All the money going to waste. But I guess you have one less mouth to feed."

"Finnick."

He might have said something. He might have said something important, but at that moment the courtroom door opened and two Peacekeepers came in to escort my father out. My father shook his head and refused to leave. He turned his eyes to me, pleasing, and I felt something inside me twist, but then he told me to win the games. I told me to kill them all.

I watched without a word as the Peacekeeps led my struggling father out of the court room. The doors closed after them and I collapsed back into the wooden chair.

Perhaps my father did love me to some degree.


End file.
